


A love to admire

by FrauKlara



Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers Series - Alexandre Dumas, d'Artagnan Romances (Three Musketeers Series) - All Media Types
Genre: 17th Century, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Class Differences, Dumas - Freeform, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, France (Country), French Characters, Louis XIII - Freeform, Love, Marriage, Mousquetaire | Musketeer, POV Athos, Romance, Slow Romance, ancien regime, french court, french nobility
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:35:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22928815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrauKlara/pseuds/FrauKlara
Summary: The Count de La Fère has married a poor but honest girl, who will be taken away from him when a former suitor of his new wife wants to kill her, in order to deprive any other man of the happiness of having her as a wife.These are the chronicles of the Count de la Fère before he left for Paris, in the throes of the deepest grief over the supposed death of his wife, completely devoted to her memory and to the happy days they lived together.
Relationships: Athos | Comte de la Fère & Original Character(s), Athos | Comte de la Fère & Original Female Character(s), Athos | Comte de la Fère & Other(s), Athos | Comte de la Fère/Original Character(s), Athos | Comte de la Fère/Original Female Character(s), Athos | Comte de la Fère/Other(s)
Kudos: 3





	1. Wishing good morning has its etiquette

This morning we made love. I woke up while I was lying on my side, my back to the center of the bed. I opened my eyes halfway feeling the gentle caresses of my wife, who was sliding her hand through my hair. Would I have experienced such a sweet awakening before joining my life to hers? Of course not. 

I slowly turn around and see her still blushing from her night's sleep. Seeing her like this warms my heart.

-Good morning-, I say as I place a soft kiss on her lips.  
-Good morning- , she answers with a smile.  
-How did you sleep?- I ask as I adjusted my shirt, in which I seemed to be rolled up.  
-I think fine-, she replied, looking at me. -I woke up early in the morning, but I fell asleep soon again-.  
-Do you need some more sleep?- I ask while I cover my mouth when yawning.  
-Not really. Maybe you need more sleep. Did I wake you up too early?  
-No, I'm fine. It looks like late morning already-, I say looking at the light coming through the curtains.  
-It probably won't be past eight o'clock. 

I stroke her cheek with a finger. After a moment, she reaches out to put back some of the unkempt hair on my forehead. I lift her chin to kiss her again, and she puts her fingers on my face this time. I press her lips with a slightly more intense pressure, and her hand moves towards the back of my neck, squeezing me a little. 

She is always so subtle in expressing her desire. A gentle squeeze, the movement of his fingers, caressing me, drawing meaningless shapes on my skin. Sometimes probing my arms... Her holding me by the neck makes me think she feels desire for me to take her. Thinking about this makes me experience a pang of voluptuousness. 

I drag her by the hips and I stick her to me. I think now that perhaps I have misunderstood her gesture and perhaps she does not want intimacy, but it is difficult to read between the lines. The passionate exhalation that escapes her lips when she feels me close tells me that I was not wrong. I kiss her again and when she puts both her hands on my shoulders, I become more aroused. In one movement I settle down on her and she welcomes me by opening her legs immediately. I kiss her neck, while watching her gripping one of the pillows tightly. I feel my penis hardened against her sex and the anticipation overwhelms me, experiencing a fierce urge to make her mine. 

I pull up both of our shirts for better access. I think this is the first time ever that I'm going to take it with both of us in clothes. The delight of urgency makes everything seem more sensual to me. I put my hand between our legs to place myself in the right place. I am not looking at her face, but I know she is watching me expectantly. I push with determination, while watching her open her mouth in reaction I ask her before I move my hip again. She nods without taking her eyes off me, as she puts her hands on my stomach. I enter it a little more, feeling a surge of pleasure. I watch her close her eyes with lust, which makes me enter a spiral from which I can no longer get out. My movements are rhythmic and I cannot stop; the heat burns me and under the blankets I feel that her skin is sticky from the sweat of both of us. Putting her hands on my hips drowns out a groan. I put my fingers on the inside of her knee, and I find her wet. 

-Clara...- I state, with a choppy voice, anticipating. I feel like my seed is going to be poured into her at any moment.  
-Not yet- she mutters, -not yet-.  
-I don't know if I can hold my seed much longer- I explain in agony, but in the middle of the sentence I see her climax. I manage to feel one of her inner contractions around me before my own orgasm begins and I lose track of the present. We burst in unison.

I rest my forehead on one of the cushions for a moment, and then slowly pull myself out. I lie down beside her, both of us still recovering and breathing heavily. I try to cover her, but she gently pushes me away. Apparently, the heat still burns her, just like me. Seeing our bodies, stretched out on the mattress, trying to get back to calm seems to me to be one of the best ways to start the day.


	2. A bruise

I light a couple more candles. The shadows dance in the room, while the flames sway given my movement. I take off my boots and wash up a bit. I go back to bed in shirt. I remember that this morning I was quickly leaving the room as I had been brought the news that the miller had broken an ankle. In spite of the hurry, I heard my wife calling my name from the bed. With my hand on the handle, I turned to look at her and, with her eyes fixed on me and in all seriousness, she said "I love you". This gesture touched me, but the concern of the moment allowed me only the outline of a smile.

Now that I see her in bed with her hair braided and her white shirt, I remember what happened in the morning. I get into bed.

-Come here-, I say. She closes her book and curls up against me. I stroke her head and then her shoulder. I run my hand down her arm again and again. The smell of her hair makes me feel calm. With short finger strokes, she caresses me on my chest. I close my eyes enjoying this moment of intimacy. I think of the cold outside, of the darkness and the night, and I think of her next to me, in this warm bed. She asks how the day was. Before I tell her about the miller, I tell her that one of the mares has foaled far from the stable, so I came back late. As I speak, my wife lifts one leg and puts her thigh on my hip. When I place my hand on her knee, a spasm of pain runs through it. I abruptly pull away from her and look at her face.  
-What happened?- I ask.  
-It was nothing-, she answers without looking at me.

I sit up in bed and unwrap the blankets. The darkness doesn't allow me to see well, so I take a lamp and hold it up to her leg. Below the knee, along the inner edge, I see a red line, surrounded by a bluish, swollen circle.  
-Clara...- I say with concern. I lose my mind to imagine her going through any discomfort. Suffering pain... I can't stand it.  
-I'm fine-, she says reassuringly.  
-How did this happen?- I question.  
-I hit my leg in the bathtub-. As I remain silent, she adds with distress and a hint of guilt:  
-I felt pain, but I didn't think it was serious-.

I skim the swollen skin with my fingers.  
-Does it hurt?  
-Yes.  
-Did you warn anyone when it happened?-, I ask looking at her at last.  
-No, no. It was nothing... I didn't want to alarm anyone.

I feel like admonishing her, but I hold back and sigh. I wouldn't have changed anything by alerting the service. I bring my face to her knee and kiss her gently on the wound. She stays very still.  
-Better?  
-Yes-, she says, smiling.  
I put another kiss in the same place.  
-And now?  
-Much better.

We lay back in bed. Leaning her head on my chest, she puts her hand next to her face. I take that hand and bring it to my lips.  
-What would I do without you?- she says quietly. I stand still. Her words take me by total surprise. I remain silent, not knowing what to say. Suddenly she turns her head and stares straight into my eyes. -What would I do without you?-, she repeats. This question, which may seem like a declaration of love, does not escape me at its deepest level... the manifestation of all her vulnerability.


	3. Wishing good night also has its etiquette

He came to say good night in his nightgown while I was at the desk writing some documents. By kissing me lightly on the lips I caught her and didn't let her go. She playfully struggles to let herself free - but I naughtily bite her on the arm to keep her from leaving. When I pull her other arm towards me, her body is close to mine. As I look at her face for a moment, and as often happens to me, I am stunned to remember that she is my wife, how beautiful she is. She stares at me and bows down to kiss me. Her hair brushes my face and in a maddening rush, I sit her on my lap with a suddenness. 

She laughs as I sink my face into her hair and gently bite her again, this time on her shoulder. She tries to get out of my bite with her fingers, but I bite them too. He laughs again. He looks at me tenderly, thinking about who knows what else. "What's wrong?" I ask her, but for every answer she kisses me on the lips. Our kisses get longer and deeper. I'm starting to get an erection and I'm rapidly getting hard.

I bite down on her neck and she sucks in the air between her teeth with vigor. She looks at the skin on her forearm, where she has goose bumps. She holds my face with both hands and lunges at me with an intense kiss, inviting me to a thousand things with her tongue. Without interrupting our kiss, I urge her to stand up while I invite her to sit on me again, this time with her legs at my sides. 

We continued to kiss intensely, until I pulled her shirt collar to expose one of her breasts. Devoutly I kiss the rounded edge and then lick her nipple. As it hardens between my lips, I hear her exhale a moan of pleasure. I feel my genitals pressing painfully against my clothes, but I do not stop. I reach under her shirt with my other hand and place my palm on her other breast, weighing its roundness and weight. 

She is breathing heavily and her skin is warm. I think about it and make the decision. I make her sit up on her knees, leaning against the seat of the chair. While her diaphragm is at my face level, I try to free my penis. After struggling with the ropes and the reach of my fingers in such a position, I succeed. I make her sit gently on me, so as not to frighten her. She is surprised at first, but quickly seems to be overcome with lust, so she is not intimidated. I think that perhaps in another circumstance modesty would have stopped her or made her uncomfortable. But not today. 

As I expected, she is lubricated, and we are coupled without difficulty. I feel the delicious sensation of sliding inside her, but I resist making a moan, because I want this moment to be about her. She has her hands on both sides of my face, her forehead pressed against mine, without looking at me, with her eyes lowered. With my hands I encourage her to move, guiding her hips. I know that she has to do all the movement with her thighs and I am afraid at all times that she will flinch and decorum will outdo her and drift away from me. I watch her move in and out of the tip of my erection. She kisses me on the lips while I continue to hold my hands on her hips. 

She starts to work up a rhythm and her movements become more cadenced. She crosses her arms over my shoulders. I take her buttocks and drag her closer to me. As she holds me deeper, she moans. Then she pulls up my shirt, and I raise my arms so that she can pull it out over my head. Holding me close, she grabs me with her hands on either side of my neck, while kissing me with passion. Her hips sway faster as she explores my upper back with one hand. He calls my name while moving.  
-Yes, my love?- I say, bearing her thrusts and the pleasure derived from them with the greatest stoicism of which I am capable. 

But she does not answer me. I see her head fall backwards while she closes her eyes tightly and opens her mouth. Her thighs begin to shake vigorously as she emits several consecutive moans. When she regains her senses, her eyes are filled with tears and she is panting to catch her breath. I see her like this, disarmed by pleasure and I feel it is my turn now. With the soft movements that her hips kept doing by inertia, the climax takes me completely accompanied by the short spasms of ejaculation. 

It was all wonderful. Her cheeks are still flushed, her hair is a mess and her eyes are bright. I think she has studied me with curiosity, to see my gestures and movements during my own orgasm, while she was recovering from her own. Still tied together, I look at her. 

-Was it good?-, I ask her with a smile mixed with tenderness, amusement and languor.  
-Yes... It was as if a sensation beyond my control had completely invaded me-, she replied with a little shyness.  
-I am pleased that you enjoy our love with such intensity-, I answered sluggish, as I took a lock of her hair and kissed it.

My wife rests her forehead on my shoulder. I caress her back with affection.  
-Do you love me?-, she asks as she touches her lip.  
-There is no one or anything I love more than you-, I reply with the serenity of certainty.


	4. Some buzzing wine

This evening we had guests. We had a great dinner and there was no shortage of wine. At first I thought I was the only one whose liquor hadn't gone to his head, but after a while I had to admit to myself that it wasn't true. Even when I noticed that my wife was laughing more than usual, I realized that I was more uninhibited than I usually am. After several card rounds and a very good time, some of the visitors excused themselves to leave, while those who were staying at home went back to their rooms.

Clara and I also went to our bedroom. Commenting on the funniest moments of the gathering and still laughing, we began to prepare for sleep. My wife spent a quarter of an hour in the antechamber, receiving help from her maid to undress, while I preferred to take off my clothes by myself in the bedroom. After taking off my drop collar and my doublet, which I left on a chair, I could hear Clara laughing from the room as she spoke to Henriette. Hearing her laughing made me smile, trying to imagine what she found so funny. I take off my boots, my pants and my socks, only keeping my shirt on.

After rinsing my mouth and a little while, my wife comes into the bedroom in a shirt too. Unlike the usual way, this time she wears her hair down and not braided.  
-Look who's here-, she says with a smile.  
-Where else would I be?- I answer playing along.  
-Ah, well, I don't know...  
Without finishing the sentence, she stands in front of the mirror, barefoot, and begins to braid her hair.  
-Pampering your hawks- she adds suddenly.  
It takes me a moment to realize that she has continued with her previous idea.  
-At night?- I ask on the verge of laughter.  
-Ah, well, don't you love them so much?

With feigned annoyance he tries to ignore me, holding back a smile. When she is halfway through the second braid, she has to abandon her strategy and speak to me again.  
-Henriette forgot a hairpin. Will you take it out, please?  
Smiling smugly, I look at her without moving.  
-Please?- She begs with her eyes, raising her eyebrows in a sweet gesture.

With the fingers of both hands intertwined in the locks of hair, she watches my reflection rise from the armchair and come closer to her.  
-Well, where is it?  
-I can feel it sticking in the back of my head, behind my ear.  
Pulling the tufts down, she asks again:  
-Do you see it?  
The light is not enough, it's late at night and my eyesight is quite blurred, so it takes me a while to find it. I don't dare bring a candle near, so I choose to use my fingertips. Clara is already laughing again, making me giggle.  
-Don't move, the curls are moving too! I'll never find it.  
She tries to calm down, closing her eyes.  
-I had better start again-, she says, with her eyes still closed.  
-Ah! Here it is!- I say, as I hold the pin between my fingers, triumphant. As soon as I speak, the piece falls out.  
Clara laughed out loud and abandoned her attempt to braid the hair, which was by now quite dishevelled and uneven, and she bent over and leaned on her knees laughing uncontrollably. I lean over to try and find the damn hairpin, but between my blurred vision and the darkness of the room, it's impossible. It takes me a few seconds to realize this and I stand up laughing. Clara is in front of me with a smile on her face, still amused.

I look at my wife's face and see her glowing. The usual docility and fragility in her seems to be veiled behind liquor's own disinhibition. I myself feel an overwhelming spontaneity. The impulses that I am normally able to contain, to keep at bay with resolution, emerge to me as imperious and urgent.

I stand there looking at it. She turns around and begins to arrange her hair in front of the mirror to try to braid it again. I look at the back of her neck. Her hair is dark, wavy and thick. A bit untamed. I have seen her in the height of frustration trying to put it back together. Her maid has been combing her hair for a lifetime and still has trouble shaping it. I remember how she looks when she wakes up, with a halo of strands crowning her head. I also remember the fuss she has left in her hair after I make love to her.

I get close and I lean in to smell her hair. My movements are coarser than usual, so I end up sneaking up on the area between her neck and nape - behind her ear. She loses her balance a little before my onslaught, but she stands up again.  
-I love your hair-, I mutter, as I bury my face in her hair.  
-I love your smell-, I say again, between her hair.  
She stands still as I rub my face against her hair. She turns around and with a bright look, she kisses me.  
When he separates his lips from mine, I have the impression that the kiss was just a flash. I feel an imperative need to kiss her, to feel her. I drag her tightly by the waist, and I hold her close to me. I press my lips against hers and then hide my face in her neck. I breathe in deeply to absorb her scent as she puts her arms around my shoulders. I kiss her neck while Clara slips her fingers through my own hair. When I bite her, she exhales a moan and pulls my hair.

The pain makes me go into a sort of frenzy. In a single gesture I take off her shirt and while I kiss her, I move her to the edge of the bed. I admire her soft, rounded breasts, which seem to defy my temperance. She realizes my rapture, and straightens up, as she rests both hands on the bed. I kneel in front of her and encircle each of her breasts with my hands. I approach the right one and squeeze it carefully, feeling its weight and warmth. I lick her nipple with devotion, as I feel her other breast hanging in my other hand. Clara watches me do this and emits a moan as she throws her head back. Then I focus on her other breast, sucking and licking it, as she puts her hands on my head. I pull away and see her two nipples standing upright, wet from my saliva. I touch them with my thumbs at the same time, making circular movements. She shivers, and the skin on her breasts bristles. Feeling her body so responsive to my actions, I get an outburst, and suddenly I bite her nipple, hardly holding myself to avoid hurting her. My wife buries her fingernails in my shoulder and at the stimulus of the pain, I feel spurred on again.

I push her back, admiring her naked body. I rub my face against her public hair.  
-Your smell drives me crazy.

With a movement she draws me to herself and embraces me between her legs. Hardened and just in position to penetrate her, I wait a little. In my raving, I want to make her feel the same impatience that I experience.

Clara tries to tempt me, sucking my lower lip and biting me provocatively. I kiss her, breathing heavily, but I don't move. She looks at me a little perplexed.  
-Take me-, she says, running her fingers through my hair with seduction.

I want to delay the moment, make her despair. I put my nose to her temple and breathe in her aroma, while I brush my beard against her cheek. I notice how she gets impatient. Continuing the game, I kiss her, clenching my teeth against her jaw. Her breathing is fast, and I feel her stirring underneath me. "A little more," I say to myself. I kiss her under her chin, letting the warmth of my breath reach her skin. I kiss her lips again and caress her tongue with mine.

My strategy is working. Clara reaches the limit of impatience and, bending forward, bites me roughly on the neck. Faced with this gesture of lust, and being unable to stand it any longer, I go inside her abruptly with a groan, while she arches her back back, pulling my hair. Her interior is warm and narrow. I want to break her in half, I want to penetrate her until the end of days with an animal fury. For the first time, I moan without discretion as I feel the pleasure of ramming her.

And Clara is not standing still. Moving her hands all over my back, my arms, my buttocks, my face and my chest, she moves her hips fiercely. I lack more hands, more skin to satiate myself from her sweat, from her saliva, from her heat. As I take her, the rhythmic noise of my own groans seems to be the natural consequence of the lust I feel sitting on my belly.  
-You are so damp- I say, as I feel the sweat running down my neck.  
-You make me like this.  
To hear that is too much for my already deplorable will.  
-Oh, dear God. I'm going to pour myself inside you-, I warn her.  
Apparently my words trigger something in her and she scratches me with violence. She repeats my name, almost screaming, and we climax at the same time.

\- I do love you so dearly-, I manage to say it before I fall apart on her, panting.


	5. Memories of a wedding night

After the ceremony at the church, Athos offered his arm to his wife as they walked together to the carriage amidst the bells announcing the wedding. They were taken to the castle, where the few belongings of the bride had already arrived, brought by mules. After resting a little, the Count showed some rooms to his new wife. Soon after, the guests began to arrive from the church. It was time to start the banquet.

Sitting at the wedding table, husband and wife presided over the party. Clara smiled a lot, but Athos noticed a persistent shyness in her. He, for his part, was experiencing a plethora of emotions. He felt unspeakably happy, forever attached to the woman he madly loved. At times he experienced an euphoric joy, at other times a warm tenderness. He constantly held his wife's hand, in an attempt to tell himself that this was not a fantasy. She would smile at him, but when she noticed the intensity of her husband's gaze, she would turn pale or blush violently.

There was food, wine and fun. When it began to get dark, the guests got up and cheerfully separated into groups to assist both spouses. The groom, surrounded by other men who helped him undress, received the congratulations of the surrounding people, who sang songs, tipsy because of the wine. For their part, the women gave advice and made cautious jokes to the bride while her maid undressed her. Thus, husband and wife were put to bed in shirt by the attendants. Amidst laughter and congratulations, they left food and wine on a table set up in the bedroom. After a few minutes, everyone left the dormitory to continue the celebration in the main room.

The room was suddenly silent after the guests left, which seemed to intensify the tension. It was evident that consummation was the next step, and Clara felt that the unrest was overflowing her. Athos was also a little nervous, but the felt predominantly anxious. It was the longing to finally take his wife. He tried to appeal to the best of himselft to keep this urge at bay and pay attention to how his wife was feeling. It was difficult to stay calm when he felt that everything depended on him.

"What an odd tradition," said Clara, looking at her hands intertwined in her lap. She was shaking, her hands cold, extraordinarily nervous. "I suspect in Spain it is different" he said, looking at her. "Yes," she replied with a dry mouth and without looking up. Athos meditated for a few seconds and got out of bed. She finally stared at him. Clara avoided make eye contact with Athos from the moment she had entered in her nightgown at the sight of so many strangers. He lit a couple of candles to see better, since the twilight was almost gone. "I realized that with all the fuss I could not observe the fine work you have done on the garment. Come here so I can look at the shirt more closely," he said jovially. 

He guessed that his wife would value some privacy, so he tried not to look at her when she got out of bed. He poured wine into two cups while she slowly walked until she was two feet away from him. "Wine?" he asked her, offering her one vessel. She shook her head negatively. "It will help you get through the agitation," he insisted without moving away his hand. Clara looked him in the eye and took the cup. Looking at the content for a moment, she brought the container to her lips and drank the wine in three gulps. He looked at her smiling and somewhat surprised. He took a sip from his own cup before she extended her empty goblet to him.

He left both vessels on the table and took a step towards his wife. He touched the embroidered contour of her shirt collar with his fingertips, touching the skin on her chest. Clara, almost holding her breath, looked up at the ceiling, as if preparing for a painful ordeal that would require all her strength. 

He desisted. He was trying to be careful, but was puzzled by the fear he perceived in her. "Speak up. Tell me the reason for your distress," he said without turning away. They were close. She had her hair down, and the candlelight gilded the profile of her face, also marking the shapes of her body against the fabric of her shirt. 

Clara seemed to be on the verge of crying. She made an effort to speak calmly, but her voice shivered. "It just this feels so... wrong". "Wrong?" he repeated, baffled. She desperately wanted to explain herself. "I don't know... Indecent" she ended up saying before looking down again. The wine made her feel a little dizzy. "Clara, we are married," he said perplexed. "I know... it's just..." she tried to explain again. Athos was silent, not knowing what to say. Was she regretting marrying him? Was she rejecting him? Was it just nerves? He didn't know what to do next. Did he have to force her? What did other husbands do on their wedding night?

In the midst of her spouse's ponderings, the wine gave Clara the courage to speak. "Good!" she said suddenly, looking into his eyes and wringing her hands. "You must understand that from my earliest childhood I have been taught to be extremely cautious about my virtue. After so many years of avoiding even the slightest sign of impudence... Well... it is not easy...". Leaving the sentence unfinished, she looked again at her bare feet. Athos relaxed his muscles, which he had not realized he had in tension. It was not rejection or regret: it was modesty and nerves. He smiled to himself, overwhelmed by tenderness. He had fantasized so many times about this moment, but for her it could be this was a new and frightening idea.

He came closer and took her hand gently. He kissed her knuckles. With the other hand he raised her chin to force her to look at him. "Do you love me?" he asked her, looking into her eyes with devastating frankness. It was the first time he had ever addressed her in such a familiar way. "More than anything in this world," she replied with despair. "I love you too", he said, calmly. "I love you with my mind, with my soul, with my heart... and with my body". She nodded. She knew what he meant with that statement. She was not enthusiastic about the idea, but at least she was resigned and felt more at ease. The wine was really helping her. Just before she went to bed -or rather, before the guests put her to bed- she felt a terrible urge to vomit. Now she felt nervous, but able to surrender to the trance with dignity. 

It was the first time they touched each other beyond the usual kiss on the hand. Athos hugged her around the waist and and bent over to kiss her on the lips. He wanted to go carefully, to not scare her. She responded to his kiss and put her hands in his arms. He put his face into the gap between his wife's neck and shoulder and breathed in, elated by her scent. He placed a slow, sensual kiss on Clara's long, thin neck. A shudder ran through her and ruffled the hairs on her forearm. This detail did not go unnoticed by him.

He was doing well with his groping; Clara's body was giving him clues as to whether she was comfortable or not. He ran through her arms, lingering, guessing the skin under her shirt. She finally stopped looking at the floor and followed his movements with her eyes. He noticed the curve of her breasts and the tip of her nipples under the fabric, and began to feel impatient. When he reached the cuffs, he carefully pulled them up, forcing his wife to raise her arms. As he removed her shirt, it seemed to him he was opening a gift.

And so, she was totally naked. Clara held back the violent urge to cover herself with anything. He admired her for a moment, astonished. She dominated herself and kept her arms at her sides. Athos would have liked to hold her breasts in her hands, but he did not want to intimidate her too much. He would have a thousand more occasions to enjoy his wife's body.

He put his hands on her shoulders delicately, and then caressed her skin with his thumbs. He slid his fingertips down her back, before putting his hands on her waist. "You are so beautiful," in a slow murmur, sublimated. Clara again felt herself shivering at the warm breath against her ear. She looked into his eyes and seemed to tell him that she was surrendering entirely. She was ready.

He took her hand and brought her to the bedside. "Lie down," he said softly, before taking off his own shirt. She laid down on her back on the mattress, holding her hands over her abdomen, and bending one leg slightly over the other to cover herself. By candlelight she saw her husband's naked body and felt disturbed again. She closed her eyes in an effort to stay calm. After climbing onto the bed, he spread her legs and stood over her. Clara struggled to avoid panicking when she felt something abnormally hard between her legs. Athos kissed her on the lips. She opened her eyes and saw her husband put his hand between them. "I'm going to take you now," he warned her. 

Good Lord, he was about to deflower her.


	6. Noises

Sometimes his wife told him they needed to be quieter at night, but he frankly was not concerned: it was his home and he was making love to his wife. Why should he be ashamed of that? 

It was true that the bed's creaking allowed few doubts, but the moaning and the agitated breathing left practically nothing to the imagination. What could he do, if in the heat of their love, when the sweat was falling down his neck and the warm breath of his wife was reaching his face, he could do nothing but move faster, with more intensity. And she groaned, squeezing the cushions, holding tight to the sheets, enduring the pleasure that seized her. 

When he reached a constant and intense speed and depth, he could not help but grunt, trying to catch the air he was so short of, between the effort and the enjoyment. Then she would name him. She would call out to him. Sometimes she would shout his name. One. Two. Three, four times. And her voice had a hint of admonishment, of warning. It was the moment of no return. For her, because the burst was at the edge, for him, because the sound coming from Clara's throat was the verbalization of everything he felt and longed for: the bond, the despair, the flesh, the passion, the desire. 

And then, like a wave, she would burst. She would bend forward, against him, against his steamy, hot chest, and then back, breathing in with difficulty, sobbing hard. And he would follow her. Like a hurricane, he felt the anteroom of his own explosion forming, inescapably, in his abdomen. An overwhelming power, uncontrollable, that took him without consideration, running through his body in waves and escaping from his chest as a deaf and deep moan. 

Afterwards, the struggle to breathe, to catch their breath. After the exhaustion, the panting of both was intense and fleeting. Next, the silence. They said they loved each other in whispers, in a complicity that was intimate, like an echo of their hearts, when their bodies recovered from the impetus they had just experienced. Finally, sleep claimed them, to revitalize them and return them rested the next morning.

They loved each other in the silence of the furtive kisses around the house. They loved each other with the unmistakable sound of passion. Who cared about the noises, if what they did at all times was loving each other. He loved her as much when he kissed her tenderly on the knuckles in the main hall of the castle, as when he had her underneath him, naked, blushing and panting. 

Who cared about the noise.


	7. Hide and seek

Lying in bed, Athos had his wife's back facing him. In the warmth of the sheets both were silent, trying to wake up fully. In the half-light, Clara moved her hips back and pressed them against her husband's groin, making a soft moan. At this clear sign of seduction, Athos put her hand on one of her buttocks and gently squeezed it. 

-Are you seeking me, woman? -he asked provocatively. His low, deep voice reached Clara from very close; practically next to her ear. At the same time, she felt her husband rubbing his face against her hair, while he grabbed her hip and pulled her towards him, clinging to her backside. 

For any response she turned her head and kissed him slowly before turning her whole body to face him. She made herself comfortable and put one leg on her husband's hip. She kissed him deeply while feeling his erection pressing against her belly. Athos slipped her hand on her thigh and stopped it on her buttock, pressing it with sensuality. 

Clara put her face between his shoulder and neck, and inspired his scent. It was the smell of her husband. The stimulus and thought contributed to arouse her tremendously. She slipped a hand across his chest, feeling him and tempting him. Athos bent down his head to find her mouth and kissed her while embracing her to reduce any distance between their bodies. 

After a few moments he managed to lift both their shirts. Placed on top of her, he settled between her legs for better access and entered her slowly. Clara exhaled a long, soft moan, closing her eyes. She felt her husband's lips on her neck, while his moustache and beard scratched her skin. To smell him, to touch him, to feel him, to hear him... everything contributed to make her feel aroused. But these attributes turned her on because they belonged to him, because it was him, her husband who made her feel this way. 

-I love you-, she whispered, barely audibly. He raised his head and looked into her eyes with a smile. He kissed her on the lips and Clara responded to his tender kiss, but then she ran her fingers through his hair and kissed him again, but this time opening her lips and tempting him with her tongue. Athos kissed her back and then attempted calm himself down. He tried to release the air slowly, but did not succeed; she was seducing him and it was extremely difficult for him not to behave like an animal and to possess her like a madman. 

He firmly grabbed her by the hips and entered her deeply. When Clara whined, he stopped immediately asking her if he had hurt her. Clara nodded, feeling guilty for spurring him on and not being able to bear his onslaughts. He did not get discouraged, as he always tried to be careful not to be too rough. He was accustomed to try slowly, especially in the beginning of his encounters but sometimes he would get desperate. Athos moved again rhythmically, this time trying to control how deep he went.

After a while it was evident that her body had become accustomed to his. He no longer noticed the resistance offered by her narrowness, despite the dampness that welcomed him. He no longer observed the caution on his wife's face, but pure satisfaction and enjoyment. Her thighs were entirely apart, receiving him. Her breasts were plump under his hand, her skin burning, and her interior warm and slippery. Her body welcomed him with joy. To him. Clara's body recognized him, sought him, longed for him. She responded to him, because he had taught her love and pleasure with his own body. 

He felt an outburst that threatened to take everything with it, even his senses and good judgment. He could not avoid a roar of despair and impatience, before he began to move faster and deeper. Clara opened her mouth, ecstatic, and emitted a moan of pleasure. Watching her reaction drove him to the brink of insanity. He wanted to tear her to pieces. He wanted to enter her until the end of his days.

-I am your man-, he said, panting. The darkness did not allow Clara to perceive the full details of her husband's face, but she knew he had his blue eyes fixed on her. He defiantly continued:  
-No one has undressed you but me. No one but me has walked through your skin, claiming it as his own. No one but me knows the flavor of your breasts. No one but I has tasted your sweat.

Clara closed her eyes tightly and grabbed him by the shoulders. She felt that ecstasy was near, and Athos' words only helped to accelerate the process. She put one hand on the back of her husband's neck and held him firmly, while with the other she clung to his arm, tensed by the effort.

-No one but me has gone inside you. No one but me has ever been so deep in you. No one but I has placed his seed inside you.  
Athos was taking her without pause with overwhelming intensity, fueling an inner fire that would eventually devour her alive in an unstoppable blaze. Athos' rapid breathing, in harmony with his movements barely changed when Clara's thighs began to shiver uncontrollably. He took a breath to say:

-Who but me has made it rain inside you? Who but me has lavished you with his seed?

-Only you... Only you! - Clara replied almost screaming before a violent orgasm made her bend backwards with energy.   
Athos could have joined his wife in the throes of pleasure and blended her ecstasy with his own, but seeing her react with such verve made him want to keep up with his movements to not interrupt his wife's enjoyment. So, he restrained himself by maintaining the cadence, watching her burst. 

After regaining her senses, Clara noticed her legs were hot and sweaty. Her husband's skin was stuck to her thighs and belly. He kissed her neck calmly as she caught her breath. She took her husband's face in her hands and kissed him tenderly. He answered her kiss, knowing what was coming. He felt the warm blood that swelled his wife's lips, the blood he had stirred up.

-I'm going to give it to you now-, he announced, after which he kissed her on the lips and resumed the movement.   
She crossed her legs around his hips, stroking his back. Athos reached a constant rhythm and she laid a hand on his jaw, paying attention to his expression.   
-Clara...- he was able to enunciate before contracting his face and tensing the muscles of his abdomen. A deep groan came from his throat as his movements became uneven and his body trembled. 

After a few moments he released his breath and panting, he laid his head on his wife's chest as he recovered from the agitation. He had to keep carrying his own weight on his elbows, but Clara's caresses were so sweet that he kept on top of her instead of lying down next to her. He wished that the day death would come for him, he would be like this, huddled against her, feeling her hand slip over his head.


End file.
